


Unspoken

by IAmANonnieMouse



Series: AELDWS 2019 [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 20:30:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19753276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: They never talk about it.





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> AELDWS Week 1  
> Prompt: "Never. Give up."  
> Genre: None  
> Word Count: up to 500 words

It's their only rule: they never talk about it.

Arthur had made the first move, way back when. He was sick of waiting for Eames, tired of reading between the lines drawn in teasing jokes and pet names and late-night calls.

Eames had reacted beautifully, way back when. The next day, he'd greeted Arthur with coffee and a good morning kiss, easy-as-you-please, and that night, he'd followed Arthur home without a moment's hesitation, as if this thing happening between them was a foregone conclusion.

Their courtship was soft smiles and steady support and early-morning calls. And, for five years, they never talked about it.

But now, their relationship is settled, familiar. It's more _I grabbed you some marmite at the store_ and less _I broke into your safe house to leave you flowers._ Arthur loves what his life has become, but now he wants to talk about it, is less afraid of ruining their perfect balance.

He tries to bring it up with Eames one night. He starts with, "Do you remember the day we first met?" and intends to continue from there. But because Eames is Eames, the conversation quickly devolves, and ten minutes later, they're wrestling like twelve-year-olds and Arthur is pressing Eames' face into the carpet, shouting, "Say it! You know you want to! Say you love me!"

Eames grins up at him and smoothly flips them, pinning Arthur with his weight. "Never. Give up."

"Never," Arthur laughs. "I'll get you to say it. You know I will."

Eames presses his smile into Arthur's skin, and they forget about heartfelt talks and declarations of love for a moment.

*

Arthur finds the letter tucked between his notes, unobtrusive and quiet. _I can't say it,_ the envelope reads, in familiar, scrawled letters. _But I can write it._

Arthur opens it.

It starts with, _The day we first met, you were wearing that lovely pinstripe tie._ Six pages later, it ends with, _I love you._

Arthur carefully tucks the pages back in the envelope and smiles.

*

It's their only rule: they never talk about it.

Instead, they write each other notes, short things like _I missed you last night,_ or _Be careful, I don't trust that chemist,_ or _Don't forget the eggs!_

Instead, they exchange letters, long things that start with _Remember when you kissed me under that starry Van Gogh sky?_ or _I often think about your smile,_ or _How are you today, my dearest darling?_ No matter how they begin, they always, always end with _I love you._

Arthur has a folder safeguarding all his letters that he always carries with him. He's never asked where Eames keeps his—in person or in writing.

But some nights or mornings or afternoons, Eames will smile and say, "I found a letter for you, darling," or Arthur will grin and call, "Hey, Eames. You've got mail."

They never talk about it. After all, it's their only rule.


End file.
